


Jim's little game

by HaniWhoLock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mormor-freeform, Sheriarty - Freeform, Sherlock on Drugs, Smut, Some Alcohol Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 03:51:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 15,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1804264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaniWhoLock/pseuds/HaniWhoLock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fall, Jim has been severely bored. So, when Sherlock stumbles at Jim's door, he decides to take advantage of this opportunity.<br/>Although Jim had a plan already moving through his mind, many things change it's course around.<br/>Through the twists and turns of betrayal and emotion, Sherlock might discover Jim's true motive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Jim Moriarty always had a purpose to everything and anything that he did. From killing someone, to putting on his tie in the morning. It was always too easy, playing with his prey. Simplistic, and sometimes just down-right boring. That is...until Mr. Sherlock Holmes came along. Finally, someone he could have some real fun with!   
Throughout the years, Jim studied everything that Sherlock did. Every case that he solved, every rehab treatment he had, and everything else that could be useful. Jim Moriarty liked to know how to deal with his toys. He liked to know every nook and cranny of his toys. How to manipulate them, how to destroy them, and how to build them back up into what he wanted them to be. This...was exactly what he was going to do, with Sherlock.   
It took him awhile, but he was able to come up with the perfect plan. Moran thought that he was wasting his time on this man, but that didn't stop him. No, Jim was going to go through with this. He set up everything. Got Sherlock to do what he wanted. Solving the cases, get frustrated, framed, and then...he faked his death. Of course, so did Jim. This was all part of his plan.


	2. Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock shows up at Jim's door with high amounts of drugs in his system.

Jim was sitting at his desk in his house, playing with his knife. Many sighs came from the killer's lips as boredom swept through the room and into his body. It had been six months since both him and Sherlock faked their deaths. It was disappointing that Sherlock hasn't found him yet.   
Standing up, Jim threw the knife at the wall, making it stick into the dry wall. Many holes were lined up next to this new one, from this repeated action. He walked to the kitchen and made himself tea. Sebastian was out, doing god knows what, so he had to make the tea himself. How inconvenient. Sipping his tea, a moan came from him as the warmth spread through his body. Jim leaned against the counter and continued to drink, frowning as he heard shuffling behind him. Putting the cup down, he sighed.   
"If you aren't supposed to be here, I do suggest you leave," he said, his deep brown eyes showing no expression, as he turned around. When he saw who was standing there, a smile formed. "Well, Mister Holmes, what a pleasant surprise," he said as he looked at the younger Holmes brother. There was nothing new about Sherlock, except for the fact that he was obviously on some kind of drug.   
"Sure. Surprise. It's not a surprise, considering you were expecting me," Sherlock slurred and slightly swooned, almost falling to the ground. Jim chuckled. "Keep talking, and you're sure to pass out, right there," he said and straightened his suit before walking over to him. As he looked over the taller man's body and up into his eyes, he could tell what kind of drug it was. The dilated eyes and color of sherlock's skin, gave it away. As well as his lack of balance.   
Rolling his eyes, the killer put his arm around Sherlock and brought him to a spare bed room. He laid him down and stripped him of the majority of his clothes. A rosy pink came to his cheeks as he looked down at Sherlock's pale body.   
"Sleep," he ordered and turned around, shaking his head. The one and only, Sherlock Holmes was laying in his house almost completely naked. This was something Jim never would have thought of...at least, not in this situation.   
Closing the door, Jim ran his hand through his combed brown hair. Lately, he hasn't slicked it back, since there has been no real reason to. Pulling out his phone, the killer texted Moran.  
-  
Guess who happened to stumble through the front door. 

-JM  
-  
I do hope it wasn't a cop, or authority figure. 

-SM  
-  
No, you idiot.   
Sherlock Holmes. 

-JM  
-  
Still spending time dealing with him? Very well then. What did he want?

-SM  
-  
Nothing. Darned fool was on drugs. He's sleeping in the spare bedroom. Probably going to go through horrible withdrawals when he wakes up.   
I would hate to be in his position.

-JM  
-  
What was he on? And will you need me when he wakes up?

-SM  
-  
Heroin. And only if he fights me.   
Where are you?

-JM  
-  
Out dealing with things. I'll be home in three or four hours, sir. 

-SM  
-  
I'll keep you posted. 

-JM  
-  
Jim sat down in his office and groaned. His only source of entertainment was sleeping in the other room. Plus there was no way he was going to do anything while Holmes's mind was fogged up with drugs. No, Jim wanted his mind to be clear. A grin formed as he thought of what could happen once Sherlock was back to his normal self. Hopefully that would be within the month.   
-  
After two hours, the detective came stumbling out of the room. His curly hair everywhere and his pale body glistening with sweat. Jim sat on the counter with his legs crossed and a tea cup in his hand. Looking up, he smiled as he saw the detective's blue eyes roaming the room, trying to deduce things. "Go back to sleep," he said, knowing that Sherlock was going to protest and fight him. Sherlock looked at Jim and frowned, slowly walking over to him. "What am I doing here?" The blue eyed man growled as he looked over Jim. "And where are my clothes?"   
The killer rolled his eyes and finished his tea. "You came here on your own accord. And my apologies. I didn't think that sleeping in those clothes of yours would be comfortable. Considering the stench that they carried. My my, Sherlock. You have been a naughty man. Doing drugs and now look, even coming to me," Jim purred as his brown eyes shimmered with excitement. This was the only fun he was having, since faking his death.   
Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, making Jim smirk. "Yes," he said and stretched. "You came here. Now. Back to bed," he sighed and began pushing the taller man back to the room.   
"What in gods name are you doing?" Sherlock asked as Jim pushed him to the bed. "First trying to kill me, now helping me? Have you become sane?" He asked. This questions caused Jim to laugh. "Mister Holmes, I've never been sane," he said and turned to leave. However, Jim never saw what was coming next. One second he was walking towards the door, the next, he was flat against the ground with Sherlock on top of him. "Sherlock. If you wanted me like this, you could have just asked. Plus, you're doing it wrong, and I'm never bottom," he said and rolled his eyes as he felt his chest being crushed slightly from being pressed against the carpeted floor.   
"I don't want to play any of your games, James," Sherlock growled in Jim's ear. This caused a frown to come from Jim. Never, did he like being called James. "What makes you think this is a game? Now get off of me, Sherlock," he said with a light growl. As he said this, Jim tried to ignore the fact that he could feel sherlock's manhood right up against his ass.   
A sigh came from the Irishman's lips, once Sherlock finally got off of him. "Trust me, Sherl, I don't want to play games with you when your mind is all foggy. Now, go sleep," he said and turned around to leave, going back to his office.


	3. Drunk and Needy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian comes to Jim, drunk. The two of them have one heck of a steamy session ;P

It was sometime around five at night, when Jim heard a huge bang coming from the room that Sherlock was in. A thin smile came to the killer's lips as he walked into the room. "And they hit" he said as he saw Sherlock on the floor, his body laced in sweat, and shaking. Turning around, Jim looked at Sebastian. "Help him though the withdrawals," he said and left.   
As Jim sat in his office, many thoughts came to him. He knew why he was doing all of this. It was rather simple, actually. Sherlock. Jim wanted Sherlock. Now, in the way that he wanted him, that was a little more complicated. Jim wasn't sure if he wanted him, so he could play with him and break him, or if he wanted him as his. This was a tough decision. Suddenly, a smile formed on his face. "Oh Sherlock, I will have you. In both ways," he whispered to himself, his eyes dancing with excitement.   
While Jim stared at the ceiling, thinking, Sebastian walked in with a small smile on his face.   
"What's the smile for?" Jim asked as he stood up, looking over Sebastian. It was no secret that Sebastian had a liking towards Jim, which made everything more fun.   
"Sherlock is asleep and I'm bored," Sebastian said with a slur.   
"Oh great. You've been drinking," the Irishman said with a roll of his dark brown eyes.   
Leaning against the wall, Jim crossed his arms and raised his eyebrow at Sebastian. "What have I told you about drinking?" He growled lightly. Upon saying this, Jim became aware of how close Sebastian actually was. This might have been what started Jim's idea of a game, or maybe it was what kick started the plan that was already brewing within the killer's mind.   
Grinning slightly, Jim uncrossed his arms and took a step towards the drunken Sebastian. This caused the marksman's stoic face to falter slightly, yet noticeably. "S-sir?" Slurred Sebastian. He could tell that Jim was thinking of something, since any form of affection was something that wasn't normally showed. Deciding to take advantage of the situation the two of them were in, Jim took another step towards Sebastian. His deep brown eyes shimmered when he saw his marksman's lips quiver with anticipation. With his lips turning upwards slightly, the Irishman moved forward and placed his lips uptown Sebastian's.   
Almost immediately, Sebastian reacted to the kiss. His hands moved upwards onto Jim's cheeks, and he began to ferociously and drunkenly kiss the killer.   
*this will be one fun night* Jim thought as the kiss continued to heat up.   
\------------  
It wasn't long before the two men were laying on the couch, kissing, and only wearing their pants. Jim was straddling Sebastian, their crotches slightly rubbing together as they continued to kiss.   
With a playful growl, the marksman placed his hands on Jim's rear and picked him up, as he stood. This caused Jim to grin. Still kissing, Sebastian walked up the stairs with Jim, and to Jim's bedroom. After closing the door with his foot, the marksman headed for the bed, pinning Jim down and beginning to move his hungry kisses over the killer's neck. Moving his head to the side, Jim's body shivered at the feeling of Sebastian's lips trailing down over his skin.   
"Come now," Jim whispered huskily. "You know I don't like bottom." And with saying that, Jim pressed his hips up agains Sebastian's, and pushed him upwards, so that he was no longer pinning him down. Jim then rolled the two of them over, making it so that he was on top. "Mmm much better," the Irishman purred, his brown eyes glistening with his lust.   
Many hot kisses later, the two men were laying on the bed, stark naked. A light layer of sweat was covering Sebastian, as Jim slowly, and agonizingly, teased him. His hands roamed over Sebastian's toned body, slowly, touching every curve of his muscles and every inch of skin. Causing goosebumps to rise and gentle shivers to run over Sebastian's body.   
Moving his hand down, Jim let out a gentle purr. "Look at you, Sebby, all hot and ready for me," he whispered as he traced his lips over his marksman's neck and collarbone. The answer Sebastian gave was a strangled moan, as he felt Jim's hand slither down his body and brush against his manhood. Instinctively, the marksman moved his hips upwards, whimpering softly from the lack of friction. And with that movement, Jim bit at the skin on Sebastian's neck, as well as moving so that he was between the marksman's legs. With one swift movement, the brown eyed man pressed himself into Sebastian Moran, causing him to close his eyes and moan loudly in both pleasure and pain.   
These smooth noises escaping the man's lips were like music to Jim's ears, as he continued to rhythmically rock himself in and out of Sebastian. As his moans and groans become more and more prolonged, Sebastian gripped the sheets, sweat covering his body. Both the marksman and the killer were nearing their climaxes.   
"What a good boy you are," Jim purred in Sebastian's ear, causing him to shiver and shake.   
"S-sir...Jim...ah! James!" The marksman gasped out, as his body tensed and his grip on the sheets increased. With a grunt, the brown eyed man bit down on Sebastian's neck and smiled. "Release for me, Sebastian," he panted out, barely containing his own climax. And with those words, Sebastian's back arched and he practically screamed Jim's name, as he hit his climax. The killer hitting his, only seconds later, with a moan and a staggered thrust.   
Breathlessly, the two men laid there, Jim's head resting on Sebastian's chest. Closing their eyes, the two men slowly and peacefully, fell asleep.


	4. The beginning to the end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And this is where everything starts to fall into play.   
> There's not much in this, mostly just building up to the main thing. However it is still important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for grammatical errors. English is not exactly my strongest point :P

It was sometime around midday when Jim woke up. In place of Sebastian, there was a note.   
-  
Sir,  
My apologies for being gone, this morning. I'm sure to be back before nightfall. 

-S. Moran  
Xxx  
-  
With a sigh, the killer crumbled the note in his hand and stood, stretching and groaning as his back cracked.   
Jim went to the bathroom and turned on the hot water, taking a half an hour shower. Afterwards, the Irishman walked down to the kitchen, with only a towel around his waist. When he got to the kitchen, Jim turned on La Gazza Ladra (The Thieving Magpie) by Rossini and began to dance, as water boiled for tea. This was something that Jim has done every morning since he faked his death. It was the only thing that kept his boredom at bay.   
As the song played on, Jim continued his dance and Sherlock slowly made his way down the stairs. Jim's eyes were closed as he swept across the floor slowly...and yet elegantly. He didn't notice that Sherlock's blue eyes were following him, as if the two of them were dancing. There was a small smile spread over the Irishman's face, as he continued to dance. His moves weren't too extravagant, for he remembered that he was only in a towel.  
When the song ended, Jim sighed and went to make his tea. It was then, that he remembered that Sherlock was in his house, so he decided to make another cup. It wasn't until he turned around that he knew that Sherlock was up and about. He was slightly taken back when he noticed how close the two of them were. Covering up his surprise, Jim handed Sherlock his tea. "I see you're well rested," the killer said with a small smile as he leaned against the counter. He found it very unprofessional to be standing in front of the detective in only a towel.  
Sherlock nodded and sipped at the tea. "Just as I can see that you had a heated night. Screwing your marksman? How unprofessional and ordinary, James," Sherlock said as he sipped at his tea and his blue eyes looked into Jim's brown ones.   
"Better than not getting laid at all, Sherlock. What a bore your life must be. Well, would be, if I were not here," the killer said with a grin. "Now, you look horrendous. Go take a shower and clean up. I can't have a ball of filth walking around my house," and with that, Jim finished his tea and made his way up the stairs, his towel barely hugging his hips. Little did he know, Sherlock's blue eyes were following him as he walked up the stairs.


	5. The man, the drug, and the killer (Sherlock's POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when Sherlock is refused his drug?   
> Well. He acts like a child, and Jim decides to take care of him.   
> Why?  
> Does Jim have feelings for Sherlock?  
> Or is this all a part of his plan?  
> Well, keep reading to find out ^.^

What was the last thing that he could remember?   
The funeral.  
John, crying and asking Sherlock to come back.   
Turning away when he heard this, walking away from John, the only person that seemed to understand him more than anyone ever could.   
After this, it was blank. Only small pieces of memory coming back to him.   
Sitting somewhere, being bored rotten. Then...that's where the drugs came into play. It was so frustrating, not being able to do what he did best. So Sherlock went to the second option...drugs.   
First it was Weed. Hoping that it would dull his senses. But it only made it so that he thought more and more.   
Next it was Cocaine. This did nothing for the sociopath.   
Alcohol was not an option. Sherlock wasn't a huge fan of it.   
So finally, he tried heroine. This, this was the drug that gave him results. Never once did it occurred to him that he could die. Even if this did occur to the man, it wouldn't matter. He was considered as dead, anyways.   
Weeks...or was it months? After Sherlock got severely addicted to heroine, his phone buzzed.   
-  
Come and play.   
Boredom is never a good thing for you or me. 

JM  
-  
However, Sherlock never answered. These texts would come in once a day, and then once a week. Each time, he ignored Jim. And each time, he thought about contacting John; but he never did.   
-  
Come and play.   
You know where to find me

JM  
-  
This was the last text that Sherlock had received from the killer. Just thinking about Jim made Sherlock take another dose of heroine.   
Not only did the blue eyed man like the feeling that the drug gave, he liked the fact that it wouldn't let him go into his mind palace. This wasn't something that he normally liked. However, ever since he left John, it became painful to enter the place that was filled with dozens of memories of the blonde man.   
Maybe this was why he went to Jim. Or maybe it was because he couldn't handle being alone anymore. Sherlock couldn't remember. All he knew was that he was laying somewhere in a broken down building, and then he was almost passing out on Jim's floor.   
Now here he is. Leaning against the clean counter, sipping tea and no where near drugs. The detective didn't know how he felt about this.   
With a sip of the tea, he shivered and groaned. Sherlock glanced at the clock and closed his eyes. It was almost noon. Almost the time he would take a dose of heroine, everyday.   
Placing the cup down, Sherlock almost sprinted to the room that he was in, in search of his coat. The detective looked in the closet, in the bathroom, under the bed, on the bed, everywhere he could think of. Yet, his coat was nowhere to be seen. With a groan Of frustration, he ran out of the room, almost hitting into Jim as he did.   
"Looking for this?" Jim asked as he held up a syringe of heroine.   
"Give that to me," Sherlock panted as he reached for the drug.   
"Oh no no no, Sheryl. You've been naughty. And naughty boys need to be punished," the Irishman whispered in the detective's ear, causing him to shiver. Without meaning to, Sherlock let out a hum as he smelt the mans minty breath.   
"James. Give me the syringe," Sherlock practically begged.  
"No," Jim said with a grin and crushed the heroine filled syringe against the wall, ignoring the fact that he sliced his hand open as he did so. "I told you, Sherlock. I don't want your brain fogged from the drug," he said and turned around, walking away.   
With a groan, Sherlock let himself slide to the ground. He felt like his life was going to end, then and there. And, like a child that didn't get their way, Sherlock went to the spare room and locked himself in.   
If Jim wasn't going to let him have what he needed, then Sherlock was going to let himself die in this very room.   
\----  
"Sherlock. Stop being so dramatic."  
"Don't be dead."  
"What would Mummy say?"  
"No. Only one."  
"You're a freak."  
"SHERLOCK!!!!"

On and on and on these words would play in his mind. Mycroft, John, Mycroft, John, John, John.   
With every memory that came, a tear would fall down Sherlock's face. His body shaking from withdrawals and his mind slipping in and out of his mind palace.  
"You're a mess," a voice said as arms wrapped around his frail and weak body. "Come now, lets get you cleaned up, Sheryl," the voice said again. Jim? No. Why would he be helping him. That would make no sense at all.  
He could feel his clothes slowly being taken off of his body. Without protest, he let the hands undress him. It was then that he felt water hitting his body. At first it was cold, and then it warned up, causing him to moan at the feeling. He must be in a shower. Soapy hands started to run over his paler than normal skin. When that was done, they moved to his hair, moving through it so delicately.   
Not long after, Sherlock was dressed again and laying on the couch. His blue eyes open, however showing that his mind was somewhere else. Suddenly, something hot was place in his hands and Sherlock woke up.   
"Eat," Jim said as he sat down across from Sherlock. "You haven't eaten anything in days." The killer's brown eyes looked at Sherlock, daring him to refuse.   
Lifting the spoon, gingerly, Sherlock took a bite of the soup. Surprisingly, it was quite good. Before he could even open his mouth to ask, Jim said, "Clam Chowder. I happen to enjoy the dish," and reached for his own bowl. "Finish," the killer ordered.   
With a sigh and a nod, Sherlock continued to slowly eat. He knew that it was going to be a long month or so before he was better. Which meant a month or so of Jim doing this. Making him eat.   
Since when did the murderer care? He wondered as he lifted another spoonful to his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't mind, it would be fantastic to get some comments on how I'm doing. Maybe even some suggestions!  
> Thank you, dearies!


	6. I'm my own worst enemy...(Jim's POV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim takes some alone time and thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. This chapter is kinda short and might not make too much sense. I'm sorry about that. It's 1245am and I can't sleep. I promise that the next one will be longer. Plus it will make this chapter make more sense.  
> I probably sound like an idiot now...  
> Anyways. Have fun and please keep reading ^.^

A small smile slid over the brown eyed man's lips as he looked down at the sleeping Sherlock. It was odd, how calm he looked as he slept. Jim's eyes ran over Sherlock. Seeing his eyes flutter, his chest rise and fall with every breath, and the way that his curls complemented the detective face.  
With a sigh, he picked the sleeping man up and brought him to the spare bedroom. Gently, Jim placed Sherlock down, then putting the covers over his body. As he looked down at Sherlock, his eyes softened ever so slightly. Silently, the killer leaned down and kissed his cheek, gently, quickly retreating from the room once he realized what he had just done. With that, he closed the door and went to his office, where he locked the door and put his head in his hands.  
"You're a murderer, Jim. What the heck are you doing?" He muttered to himself. This...affection he had towards Sherlock was a weakness, and it had to be taken care of. Weakness was never to be allowed. Weakness meant being vulnerable, and being vulnerable room for error.  
Groaning, Jim picked up his knife and threw it at the wall, the blade making a half an inch hole in the wall. He repeated this action over and over and over, until his knife was dull.  
-  
Where are you, Moran?

JM  
-  
Making sure our clients are keeping their ends of the deals. Why?

SM  
-  
Don't question me. You were the one who left this morning with no explanation. 

JM  
-  
My apologies, sir

SM  
-  
A growl came from Jim. He needed to kill someone, before he ended up bursting.  
The first person that came to mind was John Watson.  
"No no no. He's needed for a future plan," Jim muttered to himself as he looked through some documents on his computer. Unfortunately, there was no one that he could kill of, just yet.  
"How inconvenient," the brown eyed man scowled as he leaned back in his chair. Jim put his hands behind his head an closed his eyes. A classical song began to play in his thoughts, calming him down. Within seconds, the Irishman was fast asleep.  
\-------------  
Maybe it was the banging that woke him. Or maybe it was him falling out of his chair and onto the floor.  
Either way, a groan escaped Jim's lips as he looked up to see both Sebastian and Sherlock hovering over him.  
"You two better have a good reason for breaking down my door," he said as he stood, a yawn making his words sound less menacing.  
"Sir, it is almost midnight..." Sebastian said. Sherlock just stood there, saying nothing, his blue eyes looking everywhere but Jim.  
"I do not see how this matters, Moran. Either way, out! I'm going to bed..." The killer muttered as he walked out of the room, behind Sherlock and Sebastian. With a nod, Sebastian went to his room and closed the door, leaving Sherlock and Jim alone.  
"Goodnight Sherlock," Jim muttered tiredly and turned to go to his room. Closing his door, Jim undressed and flopped onto the bed, passing out almost immediately.  
\------–---  
With a gasp, the killer woke. His body covered in sweat and shaking. He had a nightmare. Something that had no occurred for years.  
Unknowing what to do, the groggy man opened his door and went to the spare bedroom, where Sherlock lay awake.  
"James?" The detective whispered as he saw the shaking man walk into the room. This was something that he had never seen before. Normally Jim was so composed...  
"It's okay, Sherl," Jim whispered and he crawled into the bed, moving close to Sherlock.  
"Just don't let me get me," the murderer whispered as he felt Sherlock wrap his arm around his body. He nuzzled close to the taller man and closed his eyes, slowly dozing off to sleep.  
"I'm my own worst enemy," was the last thing that Jim murmured before he fell asleep once more.


	7. Beginning of something new?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's morning. Sherlock and Jim have some "bonding" time.  
> But what does Jim end up thinking about all this?

Sherlock stayed awake hours after Jim had fallen asleep. He laid there thinking of why Jim came to him.  
Through the hours, Sherlock watched Jim sleep. He ran his hand over the murderers arm and through his hair as he held the man close. After awhile, he fell asleep, his head resting on top of Jim's.  
\------  
When Jim awoke, the sun was shining bright through the window, making the room have a golden hue. It wasn't until he went to stretch, that he realized that he wasn't in his room, nor was he alone. Just by the scent, he could tell that it was Sherlock he was with. With a sigh, the Irishman nuzzled closer to the detective, his head resting against Sherlock's bare chest.  
Before long, Jim was half asleep. He was laying there close to Sherlock, enjoying the feeling of someone being there next to him and the feel of Sherlock's warmth around him. It didn't occur to Jim that the two men were wearing practically nothing.  
By the time Sherlock woke, Jim was asleep once more, his steady breath hitting Sherlock's skin. Looking down at the man, a smile spread over Sherlock's lips. Leaning down, he whispered in Jim's ear, "Hey, wake up."  
When Jim didn't wake, Sherlock grinned and bit gently at the Irishman's ear, causing Jim to stir and groan gently. Sherlock repeated the action over and over until Jim woke up and smacked the detectives chest.  
"What is the meaning of waking me, Sherlock?" Jim groaned and looked up at Sherlock.  
"I got bored," the detective whispered and grinned down at the brown eyed man. Saying this received a grunt of disapproval and Jim rolling over, so that his back was to Sherlock's chest.  
"Awh don't be like that," Sherlock whispered in Jim's ear, causing the man to shiver. Jim just continued to lay there silently and curled up against Sherlock. The two of them laid there until Jim ended up falling asleep once more.  
"Oh James. What has you so tired?" Sherlock whispered as he ran his hand through Jim's hair, slowly. He laid there for hours, just listening to Jim's steady breathing.  
After awhile, Sherlock got up, slowly, making sure that he did not wake the Irishman. He made his way downstairs and began to boil water, so that he could make tea.  
Only minutes after the tea was made, a groggy Jim came down the stairs.  
"Noon? Well, I can't believe I wasted away the morning," Jim muttered as he walked over to Sherlock.  
"I do not agree," the detective said as he handed Jim his tea. This caused Jim to chuckle gently.  
The detective and the killer sat there, drinking their tea in silence. This giving Jim time to his own thoughts.  
*What the heck am I doing? I went from plotting his end, to cuddling and drinking tea with him in the morning* Jim thought and slightly frowned, however not enough for Sherlock to notice.  
It had gotten to the point where Jim was starring at nothing, to the point where he wasn't responding at all.  
*What am I to do? Continue on the path that I am on? Sebastian would smack the living shit out of me if I did...* Jim sighed gently as these thoughts ran through his mind.  
*This will end up being the death of me...*


	8. A cure for boredom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Jim?  
> Ooh. Maybe this will become a thing!  
> Who knows ^.^

(Sherlock's POV)

*Throughout the entire day, Jim wasn't...himself* Sherlock thought as he laid there at night, thinking.  
Unable to fall asleep, Sherlock placed his hands together and rested them on his lips. His eyes closing, as well, as he entered his Mind Palace, a place that he hasn't been in months. 

(Jim's POV)

Looking around the medicine cabinet, Jim tried to find something that might help him sleep. It took awhile, but he finally found something. The Irishman took one and turned all the lights off, falling onto the bed and almost immediately falling asleep, forgetting to turn the lights off. 

(Sherlock's POV)

It was sometime around midnight when he stopped looking through his mind palace. Normally, this would have made Sherlock feel better. However, he was only feeling worse. With a deep sigh, the detective took off his suit and was about to turn out the lights, when he saw Jim's room illuminating with light. *odd. Jim is normally very anal about getting his sleep* Sherlock thought as he made his way over to the room.  
When he walked in, Sherlock was expecting Jim to make some kind of nasty remark. However, instead, the man was laying half on and half off his bed, twitching.  
With one swift movement, Sherlock made it so that Jim was laying completely on the bed. However, even as he did this, Jim continued to twitch, shake, and whimper in his sleep.  
*obviously a nightmare. I remember when John...John...* Sherlock thought and then stopped moving. Small tears came to the mans eyes as he remembered John. Especially how heartbroken he looked when he was standing at Sherlock's grave, begging him to not be dead.  
With a small smack to his face, Sherlock moved and turned off the lights to the killer's room.  
*this cannot become a habit* the detective thought as he walked over to Jim's bed, and slipped under the covers.  
The last thing that Sherlock remembered, was Jim's body resting against his own, and his Jody warmth engulfing him.  
\----------------------  
What was it that woke him? Was it the fact that sunlight was hitting every inch of the room? The absence of body warmth against him? Or was it that he could feel someone touching him?  
With his groggy mind, Sherlock tried to figure out which one it was. That was, until he heard Jim speak.  
"You know, Sherlock, I could watch you sleep, forever," said the Irishman with a husky, sleep laced voice. It was obvious that Jim woke up not too long ago.  
"Someday," Jim whispered as he touched one of Sherlock's curls. "I will. And it will be because of me. But until then...I think releasing boredom would be nice," he purred deeply into Sherlock's ear.  
*relieve boredom? Husky voice. Could be become of sleep. Constant touching. Affectionate? No. This is Jim. Lust. Desire. Need* Sherlock thought as he did a fast deduction of Jim's actions.  
*SEX?* with this thought, Sherlock slightly panicked. There was a reason that Jim called him "The Virgin".  
Opening his eyes, Sherlock looked at Jim. However, before the detective could say anything, Jim's lips were upon his own. This caused Sherlock to stiffen. What was he to do? Kiss him back? But that would show the growing desire that he had. It would show weakness. Push Jim away? However that would only make him want more.  
With these decisions, Sherlock decided to take the first rout. Moving his hands around Jim's body, Sherlock began to kiss the mad-man back, hesitantly. This showed his inexperience.  
"Oh. Don't worry, Sherl, after this, you'll be almost as experienced as I am," Jim growled and moved so that he was on top of Sherlock. His mouth attacking Sherlock's, once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the long wait. I've been having writers block :(


	9. A cure for boredom (cont'd)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of last chapter. 
> 
> WARNING  
> SEX SCENE  
> ;)

(Sherlocks POV)

The feeling of having another person's lips against his own, was odd. However, Sherlock couldn't help but love the feeling. Jim's lips were surprisingly soft, and heat was spreading through the detectives body at a rapid rate.  
Through the kiss, Sherlock could feel Jim grin. This caused the detective to wonder what he was thinking. However, all thoughts escaped his mind once Jim pressed his hips down, colliding them with his own. This action also caused a noise to come from Sherlock, a noise that he didn't even know that he could make.  
Heat rushed to Sherlock's face as Jim continued to rub their bodies together.  
"Don't worry, virgin, I'm going to make sure you feel good," Jim whispered into Sherlocks ear. "And you'll end up begging me for more," the killer said with a grin.  
"I dont-" Sherlock started to say, however his words were cut off by a moan, as Moriarty bit down at the skin on Sherlock's neck.  
"Much better" the Irishman said, his accent becoming thicker. "Now, shut up and moan more."  
With these words, Jim practically ripped Sherlocks shirt off of him, completely exposing his white chest. This caused the detective to shiver.  
Somewhere, deep down, Sherlock knew that Jim wanted to dominant him. However, he didn't want that. So, as Jim trailed his lips down over Sherlock's lean body, Sherlock wrapped his legs around the smaller man's waist, and flipped the two of them over.  
"Do you really think you can top me?" Jim teased.  
"Considering you're under me right now, yes," sherlock said, his voice becoming deeper with his growing lust.  
And with those words, Sherlock removed Jim's night shirt and crushed their lips together. The kiss became heated within seconds, Sherlock forcing Jim's mouth open so that his tongue could slip into his mouth. Letting his mind fog and his instincts to take over, Sherlock stopped thinking about everything that he was doing. He went from sucking on Jim's lip, to biting at it. His lips then trailed over to the mans neck and started doing the same thing. Surprisingly, getting the murderer to moan and groan, lightly.  
By the time that Sherlock was done, there were bite marks all over Moriarty's neck and collarbone. The killer's eyes were almost black with his lust, making Sherlock shiver as he looked in his eyes.  
"What were you saying, about me not being able to top you?" Sherlock growled as he pressed his body down against Jim's, causing the killer to shiver. 

(Jim's POV)

It was getting slightly hard to think, with Sherlock attacking his skin, the way he was. Was Sherlock really a virgin? Jim started to wonder.  
Normally, Jim would have flipped the two of them over, by now. Dominating Sherlock and doing things to the man's body, that he never would have imagined. However, it had been a long time since the criminal had been dominated; and the feeling was almost dizzying. So Jim laid there, letting Sherlock do what he wished. Letting the pleasure spike through his body.  
After a bit, it got to the point where Jim was secretly begging Sherlock to just screw him right then and there. However, even as Sherlock rubbed their bodies together and tried to get him to beg, Jim didn't give in.  
It wasn't until Sherlock paused around his stomach, did Jim know that he didn't have the confidence.  
"Oh virgin," Jim whispered with a smile. "I'll show you how it's done," he purred and made it so that he was straddling Sherlock. As he did this, Jim bit down at the skin on the detective's neck, causing him to gasp. With each and every kiss, bite, or lick, Jim made his way down the man's body, a deep purr came from the Irishman as he heard Sherlocks breathing become uneven. Then, without any warning, Jim pulled Sherlock's knickers down, leaving the detective fully exposed.  
As Jim looked over Sherlocks body, a possessive growl came from him. "Look at you," the killer whispered as his lips trailed down the detectives body. "All hot and ready for me," Jim grinned and lightly bit at Sherlock's inner thighs, causing a gasp to come from him. Then, without warning, Jim wrapped his mouth around Sherlock. 

(Sherlock's POV)

The feeling was like nothing he had felt before. The feeling of Jim's mouth wrapped around him, was completely different from John's hand touching him.  
Not able to contain it, a gasp came from Sherlock's lips, followed by a moan.  
Jim continued to do this, his skillful tongue moving over Sherlock's manhood. Getting Sherlock to the point where he was constantly gasping, moaning, and groaning. His hands tightly wound in Jim's hair, and his body tensing.  
The hot feeling through his body was extraordinary. "James..." Sherlock gasped out as his body tensed more and more. The detective knew what was coming up, however the only word he could form, through the feeling of pleasure was, "James".  
With an arch of his back, and his hands tightening in Jim's hair, sherlock let out a loud moan. "J-James...." He moaned and gasped as his body tensed up to it's limit. Sherlock's eyes tightly closed, his body slick with sweat, his back arched even more, and he let out a final loud moan.  
Jim finally came up and looked down at Sherlock's sweaty body. "Oh sherlock," he purred. "We must do this again," he said as he got up, leaving sherlock laying there, panting.  
A minute or so later, Jim came back to Sherlock, dressed in his Westwood. "Your moans are to die for," the criminal whispered in his ear and then left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any thoughts on how I should continue? ^~^ or how I can make this better?


	10. John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock dreams, and leaves.

(Sherlock's POV)

It wasn't long after Jim left, that Sherlock fell asleep.  
\-------------------------  
"You know, Sherlock, up until now, I didn't think you knew what kindness was," John mumbled sleepily. Sherlock's hand was slowly moving through John's messy blonde hair, the two of them cuddling on Sherlock's bed.  
"Of course I know what kindness is, John," Sherlock whispered and placed a kiss on his blogger's forehead. "You've made me kinder," the detective murmured. When the sound of light snoring filled the room, Sherlock knew that john had fallen asleep. Slowly shifting his position, he pulled John close and nuzzled his face into the crook of his neck.  
"Goodnight, John Watson. I....I love you," Sherlock gently said. After placing a kiss on John's jaw, Sherlock slowly fell asleep.  
\-----------  
"Sherlock, I don't understand. Why are you saying this?! Are you leaving?!" John cried hysterically  
"John, I just want you to know that no matter what happens, I'll always love you! And I want to know if you will always accept me, no matter what," the sociopath said to his blogger.  
"Sherlock, you know that I'll always love you and that I'll always be with you. Now. Why are you saying this?" John said, begging Sherlock to explain himself. However, his tried were met with the same thing. A light kiss on his forehead.  
*John I'm so sorry. But I'm going to be doing this for you* Sherlock thought. In all truth, Sherlock wanted to sit down and cry. However, that would show weakness.  
\------  
*Here is it. The day I have to break John's heart...* Sherlock thought as he bounced a rubber ball against the cabinet repeatedly. Quickly, Sherlock sent a text. 

Now  
-SH

Sherlock put his phone away, making sure that John couldn't see. He knew what was coming, he knew that John would probably hate him. However....Sherlock was doing this to save John...  
Suddenly, John's phone rang, making everything more realistic.  
-What is it?

-Paramedics. Mrs. Hudson's been shot.

-What. How.

-Probably one of the killers you managed to attract. Jesus. Jesus. She's dying. Sherlock, let's go.

-You go, I'm busy.  
Saying this caused John to stop in his tracks, shocked. 

-Busy?

-Thinking. I need to think.

-You need to— Doesn't she mean anything to you? You once half-killed a man because he laid a finger on her.

-She's my landlady.  
Out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock could see John getting more and more angry. 

-She's dying you machine! Sod this. Sod this, you stay here if you want. On your own.

With a gulp, Sherlock forced more words to come out.  
-Alone is what I have. Alone protects me.  
The hurt was blatant on John's face.

-No. Friends protect people  
And with that, John stormed out. 

"I'm sorry..." Sherlock whispered. 

"Sherrrrrlooockkkkk" a voice sang. Sherlock frowned. *Wait. This didn't happen...what....?* he thought. 

Then, his eyes opened, and he was looking up at Moriarty. 

"Gosh, Sherlock. I thought you were dead. Now, what fun would that be? I made you jump off a building and you didn't die. So dying in my bed would be kinda...disappointing," Jim said with a fake pout.  
Groaning, Sherlock sat up. "Why couldn't you let me sleep?" The detective moaned.  
This caused Jim to frown. "First, you've been sleeping for hours. Boooorrrrinnnngggg. And second, you're in my house, and you're dreaming of your blogger. So how about you get your skinny arse up, before I show you who you belong to," the killer growled deeply. Without a word, Sherlock got up and walked to his room. Within two minutes, he was fully dressed and downstairs.  
"There. That's much better. Tea?" Moriarty offered, however, Sherlock declined and walked to the door. He put on his coat and scarf, and walked out, without saying anything.  
"He'll be back," Jim muttered and rolled his eyes, keeping his temper under control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't actually know where I am going with this. I'm kinda making it up as I go XD


	11. Flowers, Tears, and Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when Sherlock goes to john, while he's supposed to be dead?

(Sherlock's POV)

Sherlock tied his scarf tightly around his neck and flipped the collar up on his coat. This was a really risky thing to do. However, he had to see John.  
With a frown, Sherlock realized that he couldn't be seen like this. Then, a thought came to him, causing a smile to arise, slowly.  
\-----  
Fifteen minutes later, Sherlock walked out of a store, dressed completely different. His hair was hidden under a hat, he wore aviators, worn out jeans, converse, and an obnoxiously tight black v-neck t-shirt.  
*Ordinary people. Being able to wear this all the time. How horrible* he thought as he walked down the street. Sherlock mentally punched himself in the face, when he realized that he sounded like Moriarty.  
It took awhile, but he finally got to the florists. The door opened with a light ding, and the last at the front desk looked up at him.  
"Hello, sir. How can I help you, today?" She asked, kindly. However, sherlock could tell that she really just wanted to get home. *no. Stop it. Normal....ew...* Sherlock thought and took a breath.  
"Yes," Sherlock said, making his voice slightly different than normal. "I would like to purchase these flowers, please," he said, holding a pink tulip, two white and red roses, as well as a little bit of lilac. The detective didn't know exactly what John liked, so he picked things that seemed meaningful.  
"Of course. That will be £30, please, sir," she said as she wrapped the flowers. Taking out his wallet, sherlock handed the money to the lady, and then filled out a card to go with the flowers. With a nod, Sherlock left and made for 221B.  
\--------  
He never thought he would see the day that he would be scared to knock on his own door. With a deep breath, sherlock knocked. Almost instantly, Mrs. Hudson opened the door.  
"Oh I'm sorry, love, but John isn't taking clients..." She said with a sad voice.  
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I am not a client," Sherlock said in a deep and uncomfortable voice. "I actually have a delivery for Dr. Watson," he said, holding a smile back.  
"Oh. In that case, please. Come in," she said, opening the door for Sherlock. "John!" She yelled. "You have a delivery!" Mrs. Hudson looked at Sherlock, "just go right up," and then flashed a smile.  
Slowly, Sherlock made his way up the stairs.  
"Doctor Watson?" He asked, trying not to break character when he saw the man.  
"Yes?" John muttered.  
"These are for you," Sherlock said and gave them to the man.  
"I-I didnt-" John started, however Sherlock cut him off.  
"I only deliver. Good day, sir" he said, keeping his emotions still. With those words, Sherlock's was out off 221B and out of sight, within seconds. 

(John's POV)

I lost track.  
Of how many times I called  
Just to hear his voice.  
That snarky,  
Arrogant  
Know it all  
Beautiful  
Deep  
Voice,  
Of the man that  
I love...  
"Sherlock" I whisper.  
"You will always be alive, to me.  
I will love you, no matter what happens...n-no matter how far you are..."   
I don't actually speak   
Its in my head   
My   
Head   
Tears start to roll from my eyes.  
I'm lost in my thoughts.  
My dark  
Horrible  
Sad  
Thoughts.  
When..."John! You've got a delivery!"  
I blink  
Once...twice...there's someone standing at the door.  
I turn around to see a man.  
He's holding flowers.  
"Doctor Watson?"  
My mouth moves.  
"Yes?"  
Words feel weird  
When did I last speak?  
"These are for you"  
Colors are thrust into my face  
The smell overwhelms me  
"I-i didnt-" comes from me  
Words...so unnatural  
Unneeded  
He cuts me off  
I don't care.  
It doesn't matter  
"I only deliver. Good day sir"  
And he leaves  
Just like Sherlock  
My emotions  
My happiness  
My love...  
Everything  
Everyone.  
I put them down on the table  
Next to the chemistry stuff  
I haven't moved it  
I never could.  
There's paper  
In the flowers.  
A note?  
My numb fingers move  
I grab it  
Open it  
"Oh god...."  
Gasping  
Shaking  
Tears  
Anger  
Love  
Emotions....

"Promise me you'll love me, no matter what happens.  
I'd be lost without my blogger."

I can't....  
I look at my arms  
The scars forming  
From the days of pain  
How could he  
Why...?  
"No"  
I gasp  
A trick.  
A lie.  
Slowly, I move.  
Back to my chair  
And sit  
As if I never moved  
As if this never happened  
As if  
I don't  
Exist. 

(Sherlock's POV)

He couldn't stand being in their much longer. The....emptiness on John's face, killed him. Sherlock went to where he put his normal clothes. Seconds later he was making his way back to Moriarty's place.  
It was the only place he could be with out too much worry. The detective slowly made his way, breathing in the air, his kind racing and thinking of many thoughts at once.  
In a moment's notice, Sherlock changed where he was going. Instead of going back to Moriarty, Sherlock made his way for some kid of solitary place. There weren't many places in London, however, he knew a few.  
Sherlock sat there, for hours. He didn't move, at all. He just sat there, thinking, of John, his Blogger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry OMG.


	12. Thinking...thinking...gone?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone thinks a little.  
> Sherlock thinks about John.  
> More than he should?

(Mrs. Hudson's POV)

She sat there, at the table in her flat, thinking. Every day, Mrs. Hudson worried about the blonde man, sitting upstairs. Always sitting, not speaking, since Sherlock....died. Sometimes, she could still hear the violin playing. At first, it actually was. John would slowly run the bow over the strings, trying to imitate the beautiful sounds that Sherlock once could. Yet one day, it stopped. It all stopped.  
The doctor refused to take cases. He would have refused to eat, if Mrs. Hudson didn't force him to.  
Standing up, the landlady began to make her way to the upstairs flat. It was time to get John to eat something. A Dailey routine that she had gotten into.  
Right as she passed the door, there was a knocking sound. Mrs. Hudson opened the door to see a man, holding flowers.  
"I'm sorry, love. John isn't taking clients..." She said to the man, some sadness creeping into her voice.  
"I'm sorry ma'am, but I am not a client. I actually have a delivery for Dr. Watson," he said In a deep voice.  
"Oh. in that case, please come in!" Mrs. Hudson said, moving aside to let the man in.  
"John! You have a delivery!" She called up to him, even though she knew that John wouldn't answer. The delivery man moves up the stairs, slowly. A frowns formed over Mrs. Hudson's face. The way he moves up those stairs, so elegantly, as if he knew the place, all but reminded her of Sherlock Holmes.  
With a sad, forced laugh, she turns around and goes back to her flat.  
*It can't be him* she thought as she brewed tea. *Sherlock is gone* 

(Sherlock's POV)

For hours, he just laid there, thinking. The detective walked through his mind palace. Looking over memories, good and bad, old and new. Yet, always avoiding one specific room. The room labeled, "JOHN". Reaching out, his own words came to thought.  
"This is your heart. And you should never let it rule your head," these words, constantly on repeat as Sherlock twisted the door open. With one step, he was suddenly overwhelmed.

John, when they first met. 

Their first case.  
And their second.  
And their third.  
All of them. 

"John!" His mind screamed, over and over and over again. Tears where pouring down his face, when Sherlock finally exited that room.  
"This is your heart. And you should never-"  
"YES. I KNOW. I GET IT. STOP!" Sherlock screamed to no one, and nothing, with a silent, "please," escaping his trembling lips.  
For hours on end, this is what he did. Sherlock looked through every memory, every bit of information that he tucked away. Forgetting about the world around him until he had to go back to Moriarty's house. 

(John's POV)

The smell the flowers  
Overwhelming  
Sitting there, taunting me  
Reminding me  
My imagination...  
Getting the best of me.  
They aren't real  
It's just a dream  
It's all a dream  
Wake up  
I need  
To wake up.  
I need  
Sherlock  
My Sherlock  
His hug  
His voice

Tears falling  
Again  
Pain entering  
No end  
When will it stop  
When will I see  
When will Sherlock  
Come back to me. 

 

My eyes close  
As I sleep  
The smell of the flowers  
Surrounding me  
Engulfing every sense

(Jim's POV)

Since Sherlock left, it could have been said that Jim Moriarty had feelings. It could have been said that he was worried about the detective not showing back up, or dying. It could have seemed like the killer had a soft spot for the blue eyed man. It could have seemed that the Consulting Criminal was becoming a little more human. All of this could have been said, yet none of it could be proven.  
Fifteen minutes after Sherlock walked out, Sebastian had walked in.  
"Hey, boss, I'm back," he said as he sat down on the couch with a light groan. There were rips in the marksman's clothing, plus his white shirt was coated in blood.  
"Yes, I can tell," Jim said and sipped st his tea. "You got the job done?"  
"Yes, sir," Sebastian said and then stood, walking to the bathroom.  
Twenty minutes later, he walked out shirtless. There was a bit of blood still on his skin, plus there was a stitched up cut running across his breast and stomach area.  
"Go upstairs and rest. I can't have my best marksman incapable of doing his work," Jim said as he waved Sebastian away.  
Glancing at the time, the killer sighed. It had been at least five hours since Sherlock had left. *ill give him until nightfall* he thought as he finished the rest of his tea. 

(Sherlock's POV)

By the time Sherlock came out of his mind palace, it was near dusk. He stood slowly, his body cracking as he did. With a flip of the collar and a ruffle of his hair, Sherlock began to make his way to Moriarty's place, since he didn't have anywhere else to go. The detective took his time as he walked. He would look around and deduce someone or something as he made his way down the streets.  
Almost an hour later, he was standing outside Moriarty's door, with a small frown. It felt wrong to be outside the door of the man that tried to kill him.  
He stood there for at least ten minutes. Just standing there. The detective probably would have stood there longer, had the door not opened, revealing James standing there with a smug grin.  
"I knew you would come back," he said with a wink, and then stepped aside, letting Sherlock enter. Slowly, Sherlock walked in, pushing John from his mind.


	13. Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim makes Sherlock realize that his attachments might end badly.

(Jim's POV)

He just so happened to be glancing out the window when Sherlock was walking up. The detective was obviously tired, even though it was obvious that he would never admit to the fact.   
As the criminal stood, he straightened his suit and tie. He didn't care about what Sherlock thought of him. However, wrinkles in his Westwood suit, was a disgrace.   
Besides the fact that the detective looked worn down, the expression on his face when the door was opened, was priceless.   
A smug grin spread across his face, "I knew you would come back," he said with a wink, and then stepped aside, letting Sherlock enter. Slowly, Sherlock walked in, as if he was entering a cage filled with hungry Lions.   
After the detective took his coat and scarf off, Jim took his arm and led him upstairs.   
"James...let go of me," he demanded. However the killer's grip only tightened. Once the two men got to the entrance of the guest bedroom, Jim finally let Sherlock go.   
"This is the first and only time that I will say this to you," he said, looking into Sherlock's eyes with his cold brown ones. "You will sleep. You will be rested. And you will not mope about, because your precious John," Jim spat the name out, as if it was venomous. "Is not here with you."   
With those words, the killed turned on his heel and made his way downstairs. Sherlock's petty attachment to the blogger was not something he felt like dealing with. The only reason John was still alive, was because he kept Sherlock in the game. 

(Sherlock's POV)

His heart skipped a beat when Jim mentioned John.   
"He's right..." Sherlock muttered. This attachment that he had to John, was going to end up killing them both.  
It was a train that was riding on loose tracks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is short. I'm sorry. Don't worry...I'm adding to the plot in the chapter after ^~^


	14. Sherlock comes back...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock returns...but how will john react to this?  
> (Pretty much the same as the Empty hearse. Except his relationship status with Mary.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan on changing the plot, moving on from here. I will try to keep it in line with the show...however, no promises :P  
> Please comment, and give me your honest opinions!!

[TWO YEARS AFTER THE FALL]

(Sherlock's POV) 

He was tired, bloody, hungry, and in completely agony. As he tried to relax his muscles, more pain came to him. His hair grew to be an intolerable length and there were scars covering his body, from the forms of torture that was used.  
A man walked in the room. Sherlock had actually lost count of how many times he had seen him, just this day.  
The man picks up a metal pipe, and goes to hit Sherlock again.  
"You broke in here for a reason. Just tell us why and you can sleep. Remember sleep? Huh? ... What?"  
Sherlock whispers in his ear, in fluent Serbian.  
The man sitting in the corner, who Sherlock already identified, said, "Well? What did he say?"  
Turning around, the scruffy man put the metal pipe down. "He said that I used to work in the Navy... where I had an unhappy love affair. That the electricity isn't working in my bathroom... and that my wife is sleeping with our next door neighbor. The coffin maker. And if I go home now I'll catch them at it. I knew it! I knew there was something going on!" He said and then rushed out of the room.  
In Serbian, Mycroft said, " So, my friend. Now it's just you and me. You have no idea the trouble it took to find you." He then took his hat off and continued in English. "Now listen to me, there's an underground terrorist network active in London, and a massive attack is imminent. Sorry, but the holiday is over. Brother dear. Back to Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes."  
A small grin formed on Sherlock's face. He had been longing to hear those words since the fall. 

(Mycroft's POV)

The older Holmes brother sat there as he watched someone shave his younger brother.  
"You have been busy, haven't you? Quite the busy little bee," he said as he straightened some papers on the desk.  
"Moriarty's network," Sherlock replied. "Took me two years to dismantle it."  
Of course, Mycroft knew that some of that time, Sherlock was at Moriarty's, and also on drugs. However, he decided to leave that alone...for now  
"And you're confident you have?" He asked with a little bit of doubt.  
"The Serbian site was the last piece of the puzzle."  
"Yes. You got yourself in deep there with Baron Maupertuis. Quite a scheme."  
"Colossal."  
"Anyway, you're safe now."  
"Hm."  
The older Holmes rolled his eyes. "Small thank you wouldn't go amiss."  
"What for?"  
"For wading in. In case you've forgotten, field work is not my natural milieu."  
"Wading in? You sat down, watched me being beaten to a pulp!"  
Mycroft scoffed. Why couldn't his brother ever just say thank you and move on? "I got you out."  
Sherlock: No, I got me out. Why didn't you intervene sooner?  
"I couldn't risk giving myself away, could I? It would have ruined everything."  
"You were enjoying it."  
"Nonsense."  
"Definitely enjoying it."  
After a bit, Sherlock was up to speed, and clean.  
Even though Mycroft knew Sherlock was going to ask about John, he hoped that he wouldn't.  
"I think I'll surprise John. He'll be delighted," Sherlock said with a small smile.  
Mycroft raised his eyebrow. "You think so?*  
"Hm. Pop into Baker Street. Who knows, jump out of a cake," the detective said, still looking at John's picture.  
"Baker Street? He isn't there anymore. Why would he be? It's been two years. He's got on with his life." The politician said this, in hopes that it would turn Sherlock's mind against seeing John.  
"What life? I've been away," his brother said and grinned.  
Once Sherlock got his coat, his scarf, AMD where John would be that night, he was out, as if he was never there.  
"Oh dear," the older man muttered. "This will end badly. I can tell." 

(John's POV)

He was actually going on a date.  
He actually looked nice.  
And he was getting out of 221 B, for the first time in weeks.  
A small part of John wanted to keep sitting there, waiting for Sherlock. However, another part told him that he has to try and move on.  
He was going on a date with a lovely woman...who was nothing like Sherlock.  
John mentally slapped himself. "Stop it," he muttered and fixed his tie.  
With the last few adjustments, he was off. He wanted to be early, so that he could get everything to be perfect. First impressions are everything.  
This made him think of when he first met Sherlock...which caused him to lightly cringe. 

(Half an hour later, at the restaurant)

The blonde man sat there looking at the wine list.  
"I was always rubbish at choosing wine..." he muttered to himself. Right then, the waiter came up to him.  
"Can I help you with anything, sir?" He asked with a French accent.  
Without even looking at the man, John said, "Hi. Yeah, I'm looking for a bottle of champagne. A good one." He wanted to impress this girl. Maybe she could help him get over Sherlock.  
"Hm. These are excellent vintages."  
"That's not really my area. What do you suggest?" He asked, still looking at the list.  
"Well you cannot possibly go wrong. But if you'd like my personal recommendation... this last one on the list is a favorite of mine. It is, you might in fact say, like a face from the past," the waiter says, his accent faltering ever so slightly. John notices it, but thinks nothing of it.  
"Great. I'll have that one please."  
"It is familiar but with a quality of surprise."  
*this man is persistent* the doctor thinks. "Well, ah, surprise me."  
"Certainly endeavoring to, sir."  
Right as the waiter leaves, Mary walls in, and John waves her over.  
She sits down and they start to look over the menu.  
Awhile in, John looks at Mary and blushes. He starts to talk, planning on asking her out.  
"So...Mary...I know that we haven't known each other long. However I really think that we click. So I wanted to ask you-" as he was speaking the waiter came back.  
"Sir, I think you will find this vintage exceptionally to your liking. It has all the qualities of the old, with some of the color of the new."  
"No, sorry, not now. Please," John said, annoyed.  
The man continue, however. "Like a gaze from a crowd of strangers suddenly one is aware of staring into the face of an old friend."  
Finally, he turns to the waiter, "No, look, seriously, could you just-" he starts to say, and then stops.  
The detective gives a small smile "Interesting thing, a tuxedo. Lends distinction to friends and anonymity to waiters."  
He knows that Mary is saying something, but all he can see, is Sherlock.  
"Well then. Short version. Not dead. Bit mean, springing it on you like that, I know. Could have given you a heart attack, probably still will. In my defense it was very funny. okay it's not a great defense," Sherlock says. John still doesn't move, nor does he say anything.  
Mary gasps. "Oh no, you're-"  
"Oh yes."  
"Oh my god-"  
"Not quite," Sherlock chuckles.  
"You died. You jumped off a roof."  
"No."  
"You're dead."  
Sherlock sighs, annoyed. "No, I'm quite sure. I checked. Excuse me," he starts to rub off the marker on his face. Glancing at John, Sherlock grins. "Does, ah, does yours rub off too?"  
"Oh my god. Oh my god. Do you have any idea what you've done?" Mary practically whispers this.  
Faltering slightly, Sherlock looks straight at John. "Okay, John, I'm suddenly realizing I owe you some sort of an apology."  
"Okay, John, just keep..." Mary starts to say, but John cuts her off.  
"Two years," he whispers and tries to compose himself.   
"Two years. I thought... I thought... you were dead. Hm. And you let me grieve. Hm? How could you do that? How?" As he says this, John can feel his anger boiling.  
"Wait, before you do anything that you might regret, one question. Just let me ask one question. Are you really going to keep that?" The detective asks with a chuckle, pointing at John's moustache.  
His answer boiling over, John just tackles Sherlock. 

This scene happens in different ways, at least two more times. Sherlock got John angry, and John would end up hurting Sherlock.  
At the end of the night, John went over to Mary's place, since there was no way that he was going to stay at 221B

(Sherlock's POV)

As he walked home, practically limping, tears actually started to form in the detective's eyes.  
*Well. I couldn't have screwed this up more, even if I tried," he muttered and then groaned in pain.


	15. Cuts and Bruises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets to 221B...and Jim is there.

(Jim's POV)

The consulting criminal sat there by the computer with a small grin on his face. He watched as John continued to hit, tackle, and yell at Sherlock. Surprisingly, it took quite a bit of effort to not start laughing at the sight of John beating Sherlock up.   
With a sigh, he followed the limping detective.   
"Well, well. Guess lover boy didn't take too kindly to your return, Sherly," Jim said as he took off his hat and fixed his hair. A small frown formed on his face when he saw just how badly Sherlock really was. There was a shiner forming, he had some cuts, and there was blood trickling down his lips and chin.   
Doing something that no one would ever expect, Jim stepped forward and hugged the taller man.   
"You had to have seen this coming, Sherlock," he whispered as he felt the detective hug him back. This caused his body to slightly heat up. Another thing that the killer would never ever admit to.   
Sighing, he stepped back. "Here, I'll help you clean up," he said, ignoring the look that Sherlock was giving him when he said this. Jim made his way to the kitchen and wet a towel. He then went back to Sherlock and slowly took off his scarf, coat and shirt, revealing the bruises forming on his chest, and the scars from getting whipped on his back. 

(Sherlock's POV)

Light shivers ran through his body as the warm towel was dragged over his pale skin. Goosebumps were forming and a light moan of pain escaped the detective's lips when Jim pressed too hard.   
However, Sherlock relaxed, as he let Jim care to his wounds. Normally, his mind would be racing, thinking a million things at once. However, at this one moment in time, nothing was moving through his mind.   
As he ventured through this peaceful void, Sherlock failed to notice that Jim was slowly looking over his body.   
The only time that the detective did notice, was when the warm cloth was replaced by the killers cool hand. It moved over his skin slowly, as If trying to memorize every curve. Without meaning to, the dark haired man leaned into Jim's touch, with a shiver.   
Boldly, he turned around and looked at Jim. Neither of them said anything. Sherlock could see the lust building in the other's eyes as he leaned forward.   
It got to the point where their lips were millimeters from each other. Their hot breaths clashing and mixing as they stared into each others black, lust filled eyes.   
Jim moved his hand into Sherlock's hair, and Sherlock leaned forward, connecting their mouths. 

(Jim's POV)

The kiss was slow and passionate. Something he had never experienced before. His body was heating up from arousal as they continued to kiss.   
Pulling away to breath, Jim moved his hand through Sherlock's curls, shivering as a gentle moan came from the man.   
It was then, that the killer decided that he would actually be nice to Sherlock. Just this once, the killer was not going to have rough, hot, fucking.   
For this one time...Jim decided that he will have sensational, slow, heated sex.   
Leaning forward once more, Jim began to kiss over Sherlock's neck, stopping at the sensitive area to suck on the skin, making the taller man groan gently.   
His lips moved down Sherlock's neck and over his bruised and cut chest. Gently, he kissed over the markings, making the detective gasp gently.   
Jim leaned up and captured Sherlock's lips, roughly, yet passionately. In return, Sherlock kissed him back. He wrapped his arms around the topless man and grinned slightly when he felt himself being picked up.   
"How about we move this to the bedroom?" Sherlock said, his eyes blown wide with list and his voice husky.   
Not trusting his voice, Jim just nodded and kissed sherlock once more. He could feel Sherlock's body tensing as he walked, because of the pain. However, next thing Jim knew, he was flat on his back with Sherlock hovering over him.   
The two of them said nothing, for awhile.   
At this time, Jim finally got to see what Sherlock's eyes look like this close up. Before the detective could start to think of things, Jim leaned forward and kissed him deeply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the long wait!!


	16. Uh oh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well. This might set jim back a bit.

The kiss went on for awhile. Sherlock's back still hurt, however, this position was a lot better than laying on his back...or being hit more.  
His hands moved over Jim's chest as he took his shirt off, his body shivering as their bare chests touched. As he continued to do this, Jim bucked his hips up against Sherlock's causing the two of them to moan loudly.   
Sherlock couldn't even remember the time when he thought that doing these things were something for the people that had no lives. Instead, now, he knew why they did it. It was something to get their minds off of what had just happened.   
John, somehow, was no where near Sherlock's thoughts. Especially when Jim began to take his pants off. Within seconds, the two of them were naked and grinding against each other. He could feel Jim holding back as he continued to press his body against the killer's.   
Next thing he knew, he was on his back. A small spike of pain rushed through him. However it was soo replaced with pleasure when the consulting criminal ran his tongue down his body.   
"mmmf, Jim," he moaned, pressing up into his tongue. If there was anything that Sherlock needed, it was Jim to do more of this. He whimpered as the killer's tongue moved further down his body. As this continued, every thought of John left Sherlock's mind. In fact, every thought left his mind. Every thought that didn't involve Jim.   
"Sherlock, if you're going to start day dreaming, maybe we should stop," he growled lightly.   
Yet, right before Sherlock could answer, Jim's phone went off.  
"Impeccable timing, Moran," he growled when he answered.  
"Sorry, sir. But something happened...and I think you might want to get here. Now," Moran said. As the two of them talked, Sherlock got up.  
"Why don't you just tell me," Jim growled.  
"I don't have to. Go turn on the telly," Moran said and hung up.   
"I'm going to skin him later," he vowed and turned on the telly. On the screen there was both pictures of one of Jim's houses on fire and then photos of him and Sherlock.  
A deep growl came from the man's throat and he stood. His features became calm as he put on his clothing and walked out, not saying anything snarky or snippy to Sherlock.

(Jim's POV)

As he walked out, a deep sigh came from him. Things were getting harder to deal with. Not only did someone destroy one of his homes, but now there were photos of him and Sherlock.  
This meant that it might get harder and harder to manipulate the man. However so far, some of the things have gone to plan. John is upset at Sherlock, and Sherlock is slowly becoming more and more submissive.   
A grin formed. Things were falling into place.   
-  
Sir, what are we going to do?

-SM

-  
I am going to skin you, Moran.   
FIRST you interrupt me, and THEN you hang up on me.

-JM

-  
My apologies sir.

-SM

-  
Yes. You will be sorry

-JM  
-

Another grin formed as Moriarty thought about what he was going to do to Sebastian. There were many things that he could do.   
Walking up to the door of his house, he walked in and went to the basement, getting everything ready.


	17. Plans forming, and emotions crumbling.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim gets Sebastian into the position of punishment.   
> At the same time, Sherlock and John are going through some things.

Jim set everything up. Once everything was ready, he went to the kitchen and decided to get himself a drink. It wasn't very often that Jim would drink alcohol. Plus, normally, when he did things like this, he liked to have a clear mind. However, the killer figured that he deserved a drink.   
-  
Come home. Now.

-JM

-

Jim sent the text and sighed. He knew that it would take not even five minutes for Sebastian to show up. So, he took his time, sipping as his drink.   
When the hitman finally walked in, Jim was almost done with his drink. "Took you long enough," he muttered and looked up at the man, who had obviously rushed to get here.   
"What's wrong?" Sebastian asked, worried.   
"You always ask stupid questions," Jim replied, sipping at his drink.  
Sebastian frowned a little. He knew that something was up. Not just because of the way that Jim was acting...but because of the fact that he was actually drinking alcohol. Putting his bag down and his guns onto the table, he walked up to Jim.   
"What was the emergency?" he asked, trying to not sound demanding, since he knew that would not get him anywhere.   
Jim looked up and grinned. His eyes were slightly dilated from the drink. "Now, who ever said there was an emergency?" he asked, his Irish accent slipping out more than it normally did.   
This caused Sebastian to stop and hesitate. He knew that there something was going to happen, now. "I...just assumed. your message appeared to be urgent," he said slowly.   
Moriarty finished the drink and walked up to Moran. He then walked past him and silently took out a rag from his pocket. Within half a second, his expression turned from calm to almost predator like. He jumped onto Moran's back and put the rag over his mouth and nose, making him breath it in. Sebastian then fell to the ground, and Jim sighed.   
"That wasn't too hard," he said with a grin as he dusted off his suit. Jim then stripped Sebastian of his shirt and his pants, picked him up, and brought him to the basement.   
Jim put him down and chained his hands to the wall. "Well, that was fun. I think I should go plan someone's death," he said to himself and walked out of the basement, closing the door behind him. When he did this, a small grin formed.  
It had been awhile since Jim had done anything mischievous. However, he wasn't sure as to what he was going to do. So, he went up to his computer and looked through some files. As he did this, he saw what he wrote up with his plan on how to burn Sherlock.   
He smiled as he read over this, glad with how far he had gotten through this. Yet, this smile turned to a small frown as he saw what the next thing was. 

Get him to not trust John

This one was going to be a little more difficult, since Sherlock trusted John with his life. Jim leaned back in his chair and began to think.  
\------------------------------------------------------- 

It was almost midnight when John got home. He walked in, feeling slightly bad that he had beat on Sherlock earlier that day. The flat was dark and quiet. There was almost no sound, except for the fact that John could hear Sherlock's soft snores from his bedroom.   
He hung his coat up and then went to go check on Sherlock. It was possible that he was awake and was faking sleeping because he didn't want John to know. So he silently walked over. When he stepped into Sherlock's room, his breath caught in his throat. Sherlock was laying on his bed, naked. The covers were covering the important parts, but he could see lash marks on his back and bruises and cuts from what he had caused.   
John walked up to him and frowned. "Jeez, Sherlock, I'm so sorry," he whispered. Without thinking, he laid down next to the sleeping man and carefully put his arm around him, not wanting to hurt him any more than he already did.   
To his surprise, Sherlock moved close to him, a light whimper coming from the curly haired man. "I'm sorry Sherlock, i really am," he whispered as he slowly relaxed. Within minutes, John had fallen asleep. It was a restful sleep, where the guilt of hurting Sherlock could not reach him. 

It was close to midday when Sherlock woke. He woke slowly, his body aching as he did. However, when he tried to move, he was surprised to find out that there was a body pressed against him. This caused him to worry. Yet, the worry disappeared when he saw that it was John. If anything, he moved closer and nuzzled close, sighing. The two of them would do this sometimes after a case. They would also do it when Sherlock was bored. It was something that would calm him down and help him sleep, for some reason.  
This was also something that Sherlock hasn't done in awhile. He had been away from John, and Jim wasn't a cuddling type, which actually made some nights harder. As he thought about his time with Jim, Sherlock moved closer to John. He was obviously taller than John, so it was an odd thing to do. Yet, it helped. Within seconds, Sherlock fell back asleep. His face was against John's chest, and his arm was draped over his hips. 

The only reason John had slept so long, was because of how late he had stayed up. Or maybe it was because he wasn't woken up by Sherlock playing his violin, or shooting at the wall. Then again, he hasn't had that in...wait. John bolted up out of bed. Sherlock is alive. Sherlock isn't dead. He's here. With me. John looked around the room, seeing things being out of place. Yet the one thing...person, that he was looking for, was nowhere to be found.   
"No," John whispered and stood. There was no way that he had imagined Sherlock ruining his date and giving him a heart attack. There was no way. Even his mind wouldn't be that bad to him. Or would it? Maybe it would. Considering all the other things his mind had played on him...  
The blonde man practically ran out of the room, tripping over his own feet multiple times as he did, in search for Sherlock. When he got to the living room, he saw Sherlock, sitting on the back of the couch, like he normally did. He ran up to him and hugged him tightly. "Oh Sherlock. Sherlock I'm so sorry," he said. It was then that tears started to pour down his cheeks. "I shouldn't have done that to you," he whimpered and continued to hold him close.   
John was worried that Sherlock wouldn't forgive him. That he would kick him out of the flat, or that he would just ignore him. However, to his surprise, Sherlock leaned into his embrace and sighed softly. "It's alright," he whispered and smiled.   
This was unlike Sherlock. To be this kind...  
Wait. No, it wasn't. Whenever they were not on a case, Sherlock would be kind. He would talk lovingly to him. He would do this.   
More tears started to flow at all these memories.   
John continued to worry, however. He didn't know if Sherlock would ever want to be with him in the same way, again. Just the thought of this made John cringe and hold the blue eyed man closer.


	18. And on we go...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simultaneously, Sebastian hangs, Jim thinks, and Sherlock and John start to think things through, slowly.

When Sebastian woke, there was no telling what time it was. There were no windows in the basement, nor did he know how long he had been out. The only thing Sebastian was aware of was the fact that he was chained up to the wall and his feet were barely touching the ground. His entire body ached, yet he had not been touched, therefore he must have been hanging there for hours on end. As he hung there, Sebastian got to wondering as to why he was even there in the first place. He had done nothing wrong and therefore this made no sense. There was a possibility Jim had done this just for the fun of it, however, that was still a rarity for the killer. If this was the case, or if Sebastian had done something wrong, the sniper knew it was in his best interest to just hang there and not try anything. That was the only way he might be able to spare himself some pain.

While Moran was in the basement chained up, Jim did a multitude of things. Not only did he start up his plan on tearing John and Sherlock apart, but he also took some time to punish himself. There were so many things that was going wrong at this time that it actually got a little overwhelming. Granted almost nothing got to this man, but this did. It was something that was bothering the man since the younger Holmes brother stumbled onto his doorstep that first day. Not only was he glad to see Sherlock, but he also had the need to take care of the man. It had been years since Jim had felt that need, and it was never that strong. Not only did he want to completely punch the blue-eyed man when he showed up high as hell, but he also wanted to make sure he healed and was alright. Perhaps it was because he had not been around Sherlock for awhile and it was getting to him, or perhaps it was because he was growing soft. 

Younger Jim Moriarty would have gone up to his room, at this time, and gotten stoned or perhaps even drunk. However, because of his older age, a grant total of thirty five years, he was able to control his urges and he just sat there, slowly sipping his alcohol as he thought, completely forgetting about Sebastian. 

Now, since there are more than just two people living at a time, Sherlock and John were also thinking things through. The two of them continued to hug, even though Sherlock knew his John…wait…not his anymore. John. Just John had someone and therefore there was little room for him. It wasn't until John pulled away that Sherlock realized he missed this. Yes, being at Jim's had helped out a little since he was not alone, but it didn't help all the way. Plus, Sherlock didn't even succeed in taking down Jim's entire web. This was something Mycroft was upset about, but Sherlock had other things he needed to take care of right now. Right now he needed to make sure John was alright. His hands stayed on the blonde man, even as he pulled away a bit from the hug. 

"Are you terribly hurt?" Sherlock asked the man, earning himself a laugh. 

"Am I hurt?! I'm the one who beat you up like a bully in secondary school!" John said and jumped when his phone started to ring. He took it out of his pocket and frowned a little. It was Mary. John almost completely forgot that Sherlock had interrupted him when he was going to propose to her. 

Seeing the look on John's face, Sherlock was able to tell who it was. He sighed and removed his hands from John. He shouldn't be touching the man anyways. He wasn’t his to touch. 

"You might as well answer her. I have to wash up anyways," he said and stood, walking to the bathroom without another word.

"Like the good ol' days," John muttered before answering the phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for this not being too long, I did think it was longer. I promise I will make the next few ones longer than this one :)
> 
>  
> 
> -Yanah


	20. Mighty Mind Palace Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Right as Sherlock starts to feel almost insane, Jim shows up and uses the detective's weakness to his advantage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be NSFW for it will have Smut in it. 
> 
> Yes, Jim is a kinky bastard, but we all already knew this. 
> 
> I also did try to make this longer than the last chapter, however I don't think I made it that much longer. I will try to get better at that, but no promises. 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy the chapter and do give me suggestions if you have an idea as to how I can make this better. 
> 
> Trigger Warning: Drug usage. There might be some other things, but I don't really know how to categorize them.

While Sherlock was in the bathroom, John and Mary talked and talked, to the point where Sherlock actually closed his bedroom door when he went in there to change. He wanted to hear nothing of what was going on between the two. Not only because he already knew what, and who, they were talking about, but also because he did not want to think about what was going to happen. It was inevitable. There was also the fact that he needed to take awhile to find a suit that would fit. Even though he was forced to eat at Jim's, Sherlock lost weight…and a lot of it. To the point where when he put on his clothes, they were all huge on him.  
A sigh escaped the detective's lips when he was done getting dressed and he walked out of his room, knowing John was bound to notice Sherlock's small frame. The only reason he was able to wear a suit that fit when he went to crash John's proposal was because he had nicked one of Jim's suits…which the man was bound to notice was missing by now.  
Either way, he walked out of the room and went to the living room to lay down and go into his mind palace. Perhaps he would be able to think through everything Jim was doing up until now and come up with some idea of what he was going to do next.  
Unfortunately, not everything goes the way Sherlock Holmes wishes. As soon as he laid down and entered his mind palace, everything hit him like a ton of bricks. A few rooms had broken open and memories of John and Jim were rushing around, causing chaos. Memories of John were playing on every wall and Jim was drawing over them with red pain, or was that blood? Either way, it overwhelmed Sherlock so much that he had to sit down on the stairs and cover his ears so he could breath.  
This sight made Mind Palace Jim laugh and stop painting over the memories so he could watch Sherlock break down.  
"How ordinary," Mind Palace Jim mused before he gently kicked Sherlock's leg, "a little chaos and poor little Sherlock Holmes can't handle it."  
Sherlock sat there, shaking a little bit as his mind was almost literally falling apart in front of him. The gentle kick startled him and he looked up at Moriarty, doing his best to not show just how affected he was. It would be horrible to break down like this in front of the real Moriarty, but doing it in front of his mind Jim? That was one of the worst things that could happen. Now his mind would be able to hold onto this and use it against him.  
"I am perfectly fine, thanks," Sherlock said, standing up, smoothing his suit out with shaking hands.  
As soon as the words left the younger Holmes' mouth, Jim Moriarty burst out into laughs. He laughed so hard that tears were starting to form.  
"P-Perfectly fine?" he asked as his laughs turned to giggles…which Sherlock found completely and utterly adorable…which then made him want to shoot himself in the foot. "Oh, Sheryl. You wouldn’t know 'fine' even if it was able to bite you in the arse," he said and winked before disappearing.  
Sherlock was pulled out of his mind palace by John. The blonde had shook the detective and then hit him with a pillow to get him to snap out of his mind palace.  
"Sherlock, Mary and I are going to go out to lunch. We have some things we need to talk about," he said as he looked at the blue eyed man carefully. John didn't really want to go, because he was still slightly worried that Sherlock was going to vanish if he didn’t keep an eye on him. Then again, he was never able to keep an eye on the man beforehand, so how was he going to be able to do that now?  
"I just thought you should know, just so then you can try to remember and not text me in the middle of the meal asking me to come quick because you need a pen," John said and smiled fondly, hinting at the countless times this man must have done just that.  
"I don’t see the issue with it. You always come," Sherlock said, knowing there is going to be a time, and soon, that John would not come when he would need him. This comment made the doctor roll his eyes. "Yeah, i do," he said and went to the door, getting his coat. John then looked at Sherlock fondly before walking out and going to lunch with Mary.  
This is when things started to get complicated, because now Sherlock was all alone with his mind palace Jim. Not only that, but this was the exact time the real Jim Moriarty decided to drop by to screw with Sherlock.  
\------------------------------------------------------  
It took Jim awhile to actually think out what he wanted to do. After he got a rough idea of what the plan, he went to his computer room to see what was going on in 221B. When he looked, Jim saw the perfect opportunity. John was on the phone, obviously planning to leave somewhere. At the same time, Sherlock was laying down and was obviously in his mind palace, his face scrunched up as if in pain. A deep, hidden, part of Jim was worried and wanted to go there to help. However, the major part of Jim wanted to go there just so he could do what he does best…be evil as fuck. Since both of this feelings had something in common, the criminal got up and put his coat on, heading to 221B, not even caring that Sebastian was still in the basement. They both knew he could last awhile without food. Plus, it has only been not even a day.  
It took a grand total of not even ten minutes for Jim to get to 221B. By then, John had left and Sherlock had been given two minutes to relax and think. He walked up the stairs and leaned against the doorway with a grin.  
"My, my," he said as he looked at Sherlock, a little annoyed that the detective didn't notice him enter the room, "what have we here?"  
Sherlock looked up slowly as he heard Moriarty speak. He was now chastising himself for not hearing the killer enter the flat. There was a reason he didn't hear the man, however. At this time, the younger Holmes was holding a band in his mouth. The band was attached to his arm and in his other hand he was holding a syringe. For some reason, shame washed over the detective. That was not something that happened when he was caught. Normally he would make some kind of excuse, but nothing would come to his mind. It was a bit helpful that the band was in his mouth because he could just glare at Jim and have an excuse to not speak. What was more weird, was the fact that he just sat there as Moriarty walked over to him.  
"I see John doesn't do a good job with keeping an eye on you, Sherlock," Jim said as he walked over, his eyes darker than normal. This could be because of many things, perhaps the lighting, the evil in him or lust.  
The two consultants locked eyes, blue on brown, the eye contact making Sherlock feel like he was the small one. Even as they held their gazes, Sherlock slowly pushed the needle into his skin, already feeling his heartrate speed up.  
Jim glared as Sherlock pressed the needle into his skin. A deep growl came from him, a smirk following this sound as he sees the pupils in Sherlock's eyes widen.  
"Now, Sheryl. You know how daddy punishes you when you're bad. Imagine how that would feel if you were high at the same time," he growled out, now standing in front of the man, looking down at him.  
Sherlock really did hate that he was sitting down. It made him feel small, especially with the criminal standing like this. A scoff came from him, as if to say, "Right," sarcastically. Without another sound, and before the killer could say anything, the detective pushed the plunger down, successfully injecting himself with whatever drug that was in the syringe before pulling it out of his arm. After this, Sherlock planned on letting the band slip from his teeth and snap against his arm. However, Moriarty had other thoughts. As soon as the syringe was out of Sherlock, Jim lashed forward and grabbed his face with a deep snarl.  
"Looks like someone needs to be punished," he growled out. The grip almost made Sherlock whimper, but he refused to give any satisfaction to Jim.  
"And you're going to ask for it, Sherlock," Jim said, pushing Sherlock down on the couch so he was laying down. He then moved so he was straddling the taller man, looking down at him. He then leaned down to Sherlock's ear. "Because we both know how many times you tried to make a move on me when you were living in my house, weren't you, Sheryl?" he purred.  
Of course, Jim was bluffing. In all honesty, he could only think of two times he was sure Sherlock was trying to make a move, or was flirting with him. Either way, that considered many times, so he wasn't wrong.  
His words made Sherlock blink. He was also blinking because he was now getting high and he was wondering how Jim knew about the flirting.  
"Maybe this is a dream," he thought to himself, "or a collapse of my mind palace…I'm going insane."  
The lack of answer made Jim growl. He nipped at the man's ear.  
"I know that mouth of yours works, so use it," he demanded. Something about the demand, or was it the nip?, made Sherlock lick his lips and clear his throat.  
"I have no idea what you're prattling on about," the detective slurred a little since he was high as a kite. Of course, he was also lying. Sherlock completely understood what Jim was saying. He had made multiple moves on him, but it was because he was high and also missing John. He never thought Jim would use his advances against him…which he should have seen coming. It was Jim. Jim does that stuff.  
A deep purr came from Jim. "Keep lying and daddy is going to have to spank you for every. Single. One," he growled and nipped at Sherlock's ear once again.  
The words made a shiver rush through the blue eyed man and he swallowed as he looked at the ceiling.  
"Give in," something whispered to him, "you know you want to."  
Sherlock couldn't tell if this was in his head or being whispered by Moriarty. Either way, he could feel himself letting go and giving into the temptation known as James Moriarty.


End file.
